The Volterra Legends
by Nebula Zirconia
Summary: Female - Slytherin - MWPP era. Can things get any worse? Abuse,persecution, and dejection in a man-domin8d world. Then finally, Rejoice with her as she takes the vengeance she deserves.
1. Default Chapter

Walk with a young, female Slytherin in the days of the Marauders. Watch her suffer through abuse, persecution and dejection trying to survive, and sympathize with her as she struggles in a man-dominated world. Then finally, rejoice with her as she takes the vengeance she deserves.

**A/N: **Well, let me briefly explain what this is all about. This is a spin off from an OC I invented during my story Cerulean Skies. I liked her so much I've decided to explain to the world why she is the way she is. Here she is two years younger than the marauders, but don't worry they will feature significantly throughout her short stay at Hogwarts. And Snape and his crew. Definitely worth a shot. Has dark moments but I try and lighten it with lots of humour (more so after the first chapter) and make it fun for the characters, too.

Basically, Snape's parents are dead and his house has fallen into the hands of "family friends" who will care for it until he comes of age. Meanwhile he spends the year at Hogwarts having a 'great' time.

We will begin this story on the morning of February 14th 1974, in the highest room of the tallest tower ...

**The Volterra Legends**

**vVv**

Her life was hard; although her father was harder. But it was her own fault, of course. She made it this way, as her father told her. She was the worthless piece of filth that had caused her family to fall from grace, socially rejected. If it wasn't for the bond of blood between them, he would have "disowned the parasite". What sort of child would drive her mother to madness, before death? Then be so wicked as to have cursed her family, bringing it to ruins? It was her fault. She was the reason they had to co-habit in that Manor crawling with insane, diseased house elves. A child so fiendish and decadent had to be punished, lest she turns out like that traitorous offspring of Snape, Slytherin forbid...

**vVv**

Ursula opened her eyes and found herself shrouded in a dense veil of darkness. The only clues as to her location were the distinct pong of bird faeces and the chill wind that gusted and whistled in through every crack around the small, stone room. As she lay, for a blissful few minutes she couldn't remember anything about last night. Then as she tried to sit up, however, it all came flooding back to her; bringing with it a throbbing headache that combined with the unpleasant odour of decay, made her feel rather faint.

Slowly, she attempted to edge herself off the moss-covered floor with one hand. Unfortunately, she overestimated herself and the weight of her small body came crashing down on her other, injured arm. Cringing with the pain, the girl decided to roll herself onto her knees instead. After about the third roll, and much whimpering later, Ursula had managed to get to her feet, only to find that her legs refused to work as well.

Suddenly, she noticed that the constant background chorus of birds had gone from the tower. Something inside told her that this was never a good sign. Gradually, she found her way over to the stone wall were she fumbled around for a familiar wooden panel. When her fingers wrapped around a metal catch, however, she almost fell backwards with surprise. The stone on which she was leaning, rearranged itself into a window frame that happened to be a rather terrifying distance from the ground. But the thing that startled her most was the delicate, ice-cold, white puff that landed on her nose as she peered outside. Her body, now pulsing with excitement and surprise, almost fell out of the tower as she shoved her head eagerly out the window; the girl felt her insides leap with hope as she watched more puffs float lazily down from the sky, coating everything they touched in a soft, white blanket.

"Chorazin!" she called. As she did so, Ursula spotted a slight rustle in the dark depths of the forest below. After a moment, the trees seemed to part slightly of their own accord, allowing the snow to penetrate the darkness. Then, as she looked, two glowing white eyes appeared, hovering in the undergrowth. "Chorazin, elthe deuro!" At once the pair of eyes shot upwards out of the darkness into the light, revealing also a long, skeletal-thin black form, with bat-like wings. The somewhat graceful beast swept through the air, its wings swirling the snow and shaking it from the highest branches.

The girl laughed as she watched the unusual antics of the Thestral, wondering if it had ever seen snow before. Eventually, it wheeled itself round and beat its wings to reach the level of her window. After a few circles round the tower, Ursula called it to her. Just when it seemed to have disappeared, she heard the thumps as its hooves landed unsteadily on the slate roof above, causing worrying amounts of dust and dirt to fall from the rafters. Slowly, it pawed at the tiles, loosening them until they slid off. When enough had fallen into the gutter, the creature lowered its head into the room, not a bit repulsed by the stench. Somehow, it then half fell, half jumped through the small gap, landing on the slippery floor. The girl wrapped her good arm around its neck and used her legs to pull herself into a safer position. With a gentle caress and a soft word, the beast buckled his hind legs and propelled itself back through the roof and out into the fresh air once again. Even the way it moved told how much it enjoyed the thrill of freedom.

Abruptly, it swept down towards the dense forest of conifers, its tail skimming the treetops, until it came to narrow stream. Looking down, the girl spotted a swarm of curious-looking water nymphs as they fished for morsels in the freezing waters. These temperatures seemed strangely agreeable to the tiny creatures as they playfully dodged and punched the snowflakes. Although they seemed cute, however, she was well aware they could do damage in their numbers, if they felt like it.

Gliding on the wind, they flew on until she saw a grey pinnacle form on the horizon; the castle. The soaring, fearless feeling that flying had inspired in her, immediately dissolved. All too soon, they had reached the Manor; the place where all her nightmares lurked in the shadows. Ursula urged the Thestral to slow down; it wasn't as if she was eager to get there. Swooping over the trees, she watched as startled birds squawked and flapped away to a safer tree. She also noticed Chorazin staring hungrily after them as they sped off.

When they reached the castle, they flew around the back to where the outside balcony was. Her eyes flitting around nervously, she spied that Rosetta's curtains were still closed. "Nicely timed, my friend, now we can both eat." The Thestral glided over to the rear balcony, high above the ground, and landed noiselessly on the snow-covered stone. After sliding off awkwardly, the girl stroked the creature with appreciation before walking over to a pair of tall, dark-wooded doors which locked externally.

The small girl stood at the base of it and looked up where she saw a large stone carved into the face of a gargoyle. Its face was contorted horribly, so badly in fact, that she was unable to tell if it was awake or not. She coughed loudly. Nothing. She coughed again. Snow continued to settle calmly on its grotesque features.

"Hey, any time today, brickface!" Her loud voice didn't seem to penetrate its thick head, but something made her suspect otherwise. 'Brickface' was not usually an insult the gargoyle could ignore. Reaching down, she filled in her fist a thick clump of snow. Then, compressing it, she took aim and fired it hard. The addressed thing made an awkward snort, removing snow from its large nostrils and lazily peeled its eyes open, wincing at the light. "Had a rough night on the rocks, did we?" she asked, raising a thin black eyebrow to emphasize her mock concern.

"What d'you want, brat?" it growled.

"What does it look like?" she retorted sarcastically, contrasting with her innocent smile. She reached down and fired another snowball at it before it could 'fall asleep' again. It growled angrily at her. Apparently snow up a gargoyle's nose was irritating...

"Pleeease?" she asked all too nicely. After another growl of annoyance, the tall doors groaned and pulled themselves open. "About time, too" the girl added as she entered the room.

Upon entering the dark room, she walked over to the house-elf waiting stolidly by the far door, carrying a heavy silver tray laden with food. Looking down at the food - a plate of bacon, chicken, toast and a bowl of cereal - she selected the meat pieces and took them over to the Thestral as a reward. When it had eaten, she gently patted its nose before it unfolded its reptilian wings and swept back towards the forest, leaving Ursula standing in a blizzard of snow and her own long, black hair which whipped capriciously at her face.

Turning back to the house-elf and shutting the door, she ushered it over to the bed where she speedily ate the remains of her breakfast as quickly as she could. After dismissing the elf, Ursula walked over to her desk and gazed upon herself in the mirror with disgust. Her thick hair was uncombed and rebellious. Her thin face was smeared with dirt and blood; whether or not it was hers she didn't know. Her nails, too, where broken and caked with grime from the floor of the tower. She looked worse than the rats one would find crawling around Knockturn Alley. As she further explored her pain threshold by attempting to take off her robes with one hand, the house-elf reappeared with a ceramic bowl exuding steam.

"What are you doing back here? What's that?" she inquired suspiciously. The creature grunted something about orders and dumped the bowl in front of her. Suddenly, the elf took her good arm and immersed it in the hot water, causing her to make faces and yell at him for his stupidity. But before she knew it, he was scrubbing at her skin until she resigned herself to the fact that she was after-all being cleaned, albeit by an elf. Watching in the mirror as her face was washed, the black smudges disappeared but red patched appeared elsewhere, and they stung when touched. Ignoring the house-elf's crazy muttering, she threw open a drawer and pulled out a small vial of a clear liquid. Applying it like perfume, she put it all over her wounded areas, including her right arm, and then downed the rest of its contents.

After the elf was done, she dismissed him and went to her wardrobe, beginning to undress. As her shirt slid over her pale shoulders, she got the distinct feeling she was being watched. Turning her head around slowly, Ursula quickly spied a large pair of bulging eyes peeking around the edge of the door. Without a word, she grabbed the closest object (a vase) and flung it in that direction with all her anger. The elf was gone before the vase smashed against the back of the door; she could hear it sniggering as it walked away.

"Filthy creep" she muttered as she hastily changed into a clean shirt.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... .. ... ... .. .. .. . .. .... ... ... .. ... .. .. .. . .. .. .. .... .. . . .. . ... . . .

"You're late." The woman sitting primly behind the desk stated this in a way which made Ursula unsure as to whether it was a statement or a question.

"Yes, I... had a house-elf problem." Ursula stood stiffly before the desk trying desperately to sound like she was telling the truth, because she was, for once.

"Is that so?" the woman asked, looking over her thin glasses at the small girl.

"Yes, it wouldn't go away... which meant I couldn't get dressed." She added this last bit to avoid further questions and was surprised with the reply she got from her governess.

"Really? That's disgusting. I have never met such disrespectful house-elves. This I am definitely reporting. What was its name?" Ursula filled her in on the menial details and took a seat when she was finished. The small table at which she sat was already covered in parchments and textbooks of varying ages and sizes.

"How did you find your assignment for today?" the woman asked formally.

"Fine." Ursula replied and passed over two rolls of parchment with her left hand, and waited as her governess scanned the material.

"I think you like this topic."

"The Ancient Greeks had a lot of wisdom to share. I suppose I got carried away." The woman smiled encouragingly. Her face wasn't lined with age, yet her dappled green eyes radiated wisdom.

"Good! Now let's see what else you have there..."

After two hours had passed by slowly, varying from animated discussion to minutes of silence broken only by the scratching of quills on parchment, Rosetta looked up and noticed something peculiar.

"Why are you writing with your left hand Ursula?" The girl hesitated in her answer, unsure as how to evade telling the truth.

"Because... if my right hand should ever become injured, it would be... beneficial to be able to write with the other, wouldn't it?" _What a lame excuse, Volterra, you prune! She'll never buy it... she knows you too well,_ Ursula thought as she locked eyes with Rosetta.

"Hmm. Well you've been writing like that for long enough now. Switch back." Their eyes still focused on each other coolly, Ursula smiled faintly and shifted position. Carefully, she began to write. Initially, she felt no pain, but as her governess continued to watch her, the potion taken earlier seemed to wear off and her wrist ached once more. Yet Ursula was determined that it shouldn't show. To do so, would be to hand the enemy the weapon of weakness, as her father would say. With her teeth clenched, she buried her face in the parchment and plodded on, barely concentrating on what she was writing, until her eyes filled with more tears than she could see through.

"Ursula, are you alright?" a concerned voice sounded from above. All she could do was nod. "Are you sure?" the voice didn't believe her. Rosetta stood up and knelt beside the girl, laying a hand on her upper arm. "It's your arm, isn't it?" she began. "Come here, let's see –"

"No! I'm fine; I don't need your help!" Ursula burst out, suddenly, pulling her arm away, painfully. At this the suddenly woman stood up with a scowl on her face.

"Ursula Volterra, who do you think you are, saying you don't need help, especially when it's offered so freely? I am not impressed at your lack of appreciation. Now we will get that arm healed up as soon as possible, understand?" Rosetta was hurt by Ursula's rejection. To her, it translated as a lack of trust, and trust was important to her. Ursula sensed this in her eyes and regretted it. Slowly she tilted back her head and looked at the older woman.

"Rosetta you don't understand. It happened for a reason and I will not give anyone the pleasure of seeing me suffer." She said through clenched teeth with an air of forced patience.

"No-one is going to see you suffer, and if they do, cursed be the one who takes pleasure from it." Rose bent down and looked into her eyes. "Pride can only fight your battles for so long, and then you will become ashamed," she rested her hand once again on the girl's arm "and have a lasting scar to remind you of it everyday. And don't tell me I don't know what I'm talking about. I live here too." The woman's English was now laced with a soft Italian accent, which was rather calming. Ursula finally relented and went to rest on a more comfortable chair in the drawing room while being healed. She calmly let Rose's hands move over her arm without flinching. She was charged with her protection and education, being a trained Healer, and Ursula trusted her, even if sometimes she was overly wary.

xVx

Only request: read & review. Simple. Any questions, please ask.


	2. Curious Incidents

Ursula hadn't been in the nicely furnished room for a long time, since her activities were mostly restricted to the north tower, her bedroom, the library and the dining room. She soon discovered there were even books lining these shelves that she hadn't read. Her arm feeling better, she lifted a large, leather-bound book and opened it. A glance at the contents and it was obvious this was a book on magical plants. She flicked through the pages with diagrams concerning deadly flora, reading about the particularly poisonous ones as she went. Eventually she set it down and lifted another, smaller one. She could tell from the weight of it that it wasn't scientific. Upon opening the front page, she saw it wasn't even in her usual genre – factual to mythological. Nevertheless, she was entranced from the first line. Ursula read on, her curiosity getting the better of her.

"The thick mist hung heavily in the cool night air, obscuring them from the view of others. The cloaked pair drifted among the shadows of the trees until they came to the entrance of an old, darkened house. No light diffused from its empty windows. Slowly, the taller figure lowered his face to the other, their warm breath mingling in the lamplight. But before their lips could touch, the woman raised a tiny hand to his face.

'They cannot keep us apart, can they? Our love is too pure...?' she whispered uncertainly.

'I am yours 'til my last breath. I will not let them take you from me' he said, his deep, husky voice lingering in the night air.

'But you don't know what my father's like; once he's made up his mind – oh Xavier, I'm frightened. His new friend, Mr. Appleton, well, he -' she began sadly.

'He will never lay a finger on you while my heart beats. This I swear.' The man lowered his hood, revealing a mass of dark curls, his soft brown eyes locked with hers. After a moment, their lips came together passionately. Time seemed to pause as they stood enveloped in a paradise of forbidden emotions. So diverted was their attention, neither noticed the moving shadows gliding closer through the gloom towards them.

It took a minute for the young man to notice the strange quietness of his surroundings. It took only seconds, however, for him to sense the encroaching tendrils of Dark Magic circling them. Moving slowly, he pulled away from her soft lips and looked into her pale green eyes, penetrating her mind. She saw he was trying to communicate to her, although she was uncertain why, so she let her natural barriers fall immediately. Calmly he told her to run into the house, to blow down the door if she had to, but she must run and not look back. This she must promise him. Whatever happens she mustn't look back. The now worried young woman made to question him, but he placed his lips firmly over hers to muffle a reply. Then, as suddenly and unexpectedly as the kiss had been, he took her arm and pushed her with all his might backwards over the low wall where she stood. The pale woman let out a cry as she fell, her long blonde hair breaking free from the hood as she went. The man could only look pained as he let her thin fingers slip through his grasp.

Swiveling round, his wand already exposed, he raised his eyes to behold a dozen black-clad figures walking out of the darkness beyond. The tallest one stepped toward him, its face disguised behind a mask of pure white, while the others hovered menacingly.

'Xavier' it hissed, shaking its head slightly at him.

'Run Martha! Go!' he cried desperately. There was the sound of scrambling amongst the grass behind him, then of small feet running down the gravel path to the house. Xavier immediately fired a spell at the fiend but it was too easily resisted. The others lazily threw hexes at him, edging closer. He could hear their cackles through the haze. He was outnumbered 12-to-1. He didn't stand a chance. Frantically, the young man threw hex after hex at them while protecting himself against theirs. Before he knew it, he was being backed into a corner. They were closing in. Risking a glance around, he froze as his eyes fell upon the small figure of a woman lying on the ground, wand in hand, overshadowed by another domino-clad tormentor. As he looked on, the man bent down and lifted her off the ground. He turned and walked with her towards the darkened house.

'NOOOOO!' Xavier shouted in vain, making to jump over the low wall, but before he moved, a Stunning Spell sent him sprawling across the grass where he lay unmoving. After a moment, it seemed, a gloved hand touched his shoulder. Spinning around, he planted his fist in the other guy's face, which made a gory crunching noise behind the mask. Scrambling to his feet, Xavier ran towards the door, red streaks of light shooting past his head. Yet he never reached the entrance. Snake-like cords coming from a wand wrapped themselves round his wrists and ankles, bringing him face to face with the earth. He lifted his head to a man laughing, as if truly entertained. A large, balding man bearing a familiar disdainful smile stood at the doorway, draped in expensive black robes.

A rough hand grabbed Xavier by the hair and trailed him closer. Judging by the heavy, harsh breathing, it was the same guy whose face he'd just mangled. The guy kicked him hard in the ribs, rendering him speechless, but only for a moment.

'What have you done with her?!' Xavier demanded his voice hoarse and strained.

'That isn't, wasn't, and never will be, your concern. She's far beyond your _unworthy_ grasp.' The man said pointedly, with a snobbish accent. Xavier struggled in his restraints. 'Don't touch what you can't afford, Ridgewell.' He sneered.

'Bastard!' he gasped, spitting viciously on the perfect robes hanging above his head. The man looked down at him in disgust. He'd just sealed his fate.

'Kill him.' He said to the tallest one, his eyes glittering through the eerie mist.

Their hands grabbed him from behind pulling him backwards mercilessly. 'Martha!' he whispered, reaching his hand out towards the darkened entrance where he last beheld his loved one, the one he would do anything for, knowing she couldn't hear him anymore, and never would again."

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The girl hardly noticed the dark entrance door slide open; her thoughts were so deeply involved in the events of the chapter.

"What are you reading?" Rosetta inquired. She hesitated a moment then told her, her voice laced with annoyance at being interrupted.

"A book."

"About what?" The woman replied with exasperation.

"I'll tell you when I'm finished." Ursula smiled, her unusual, cold eyes glittering as they flew across the page.

"I want to know what you're filling you mind with, young lady." Ursula couldn't conceal her disappointment as her governess confiscated the book from her hands, flicking through it and pausing frequently. After a moment, she commented, frowning, "Hmm, an unnecessary amount of violence and unrealistic, _romantic_ situations. Not ideal reading material." She certainly knew how deflate the moment. Quietly pocketing the book, she went to walk away when Ursula claimed that one couldn't start a book and not finish it. In response, Rosetta informed her that she died in the end anyway so all-in-all the tragic story wouldn't be worth reading, in her opinion.

"Well, I suppose she got what she deserved, in the end. Filthy whore disobeying her father's wishes and cavorting with mudbloods. She had it all, too." Ursula said, indifferently. Her governess' face blanched in horror before she furiously rounded on her charge.

"I beg your pardon?!" she spun round, her robes swishing as she did so.

"What?" Ursula replied innocently, yet she was unprepared for the tumult that was to ensue.

"If I ever hear you say that word again –" the woman's green eyes glowed amber.

"Father says it all the time," she retorted, challengingly. Her governess strode over and hoisted her up by the arm – the sore one – and chastised her harshly, yet quietly.

"I hope soon you realize that not everything your father says or does is right. And I take the responsibility to teach you this upon myself. Now, if I ever hear you say that again, even in private, I will personally –"she broke off as the door opened. They both immediately knew who it was. No house-elf would enter without knocking.

"Ah, am I interrupting something?" he asked silkily. The governess immediately released the girl's arm, straightened and faced her employer, bowing slightly. The man before her wasn't as impressive as one might expect the owner of such a voice to be, nevertheless, this man was not to be crossed.

"Certainly not, Sir. I had merely lost a book that I was reading and your daughter so kindly retrieved it for me." Her voice and accent were now perfect; her posture reflected confidence, and yet Ursula could see that her breathing was shallow and her eyes more than usually alert. The smaller man raised a large brown eyebrow shrewdly.

"Don't make up excuses for the child. If punishment is due, then I expect you to exact it accordingly. You know I do not spare the rod, and I have given you full permission to do the same." The man walked over to them, watching Ursula carefully. As he stepped closer, the girl looked up into her father's grey eyes and still couldn't see a shred of affection. She looked down and decided to inspect her feet once more.

"Yes, Sir, I understand." Rosetta answered. Mr. Volterra moved closer to her and inspected her with his cold eyes.

"I hope so, for if you do not, I will be forced to remove you from your position and take over myself. We wouldn't want that, now would we?" he said with feigned sadness.

"No, Sir." Ursula got the impression that Rose sounded more concerned about the thought of her father trying to teach her.

"Good. Now," he moved even closer to the taller woman, so that their faces where inches apart. Rosetta seemed rather uneasy at this attention, moving back slightly, only to have him regain his lost space until her back was against the hard bookcase. "Last night my daughter and I had a little chat about her falling examination results," he said softly, shooting a dark look towards the repentant girl. "I trust you are aware about how I feel regarding her particular proficiency in the Dark Arts? Yet I was disappointed at her last result. She did not receive the high level I expected. Upon further reflection, it occurred to me that perhaps the fault doesn't lie with the student, but the governess." Rosetta's face flashed with fear. He saw this and smirked. Before she knew it, he'd smoothly slipped his arm around her narrow waist and pulled her against him, causing her to have to hold on to him incase she should fall. Meanwhile, Ursula was silently glaring at the carpet.

"After dinner, Rose, you will come to my chambers and we will discuss your future" he said, his voice lower than usual, but the threat still obvious.

"Mr. Volterra, I think your daughter's future is more important than mine." Rosetta pleaded, trying to remove his arm without insulting him.

"That thing has no future." He replied curtly. "There's no respectable place in society for squibs and those of impure bloodlines." He continued disdainfully. At this, Rosetta couldn't contain her anger.

"I am afraid you are wrong on both accounts, Sir. Your daughter is a remark-" At that precise moment, she let out a yelp and pushed him backwards. "Oh my! Sir, your hair is on fire!"

"_What_?!" Recovering quickly, he turned and looked in a mirror across the room. It was true; the back of his head was on fire. Pulling out his wand, he waved it around his head, trying to put it out, but for some reason it wasn't working. His hair was disappearing before his eyes. "Woman, what's the spell to put this out?"

"It – I – I don't know!" she answered, bringing her ands up to her face.

"WHAT!" he shouted, then in a flash of anger pointed his wand at her face. "I'll help you remember." Volterra snarled, "Crucio."

The scene was over in a matter of moments and his hair was mostly repaired, save for few singed ends which had to remain to cover over a new bald patch at the back of his head. However, just when it seemed he had vented all his anger in front of the mirror, he stopped and turned to Ursula, as if seeing her for the first time.

"_You!_" Her father strode towards her and seized the front of her robes, lifting her off the ground. The girl couldn't hide the fear that suddenly took hold of her. "This is all your doing!" he hissed.

"No father!"

"Don't lie to me, I can see right through you, you worthless little -" he snarled at her.

"Stop, leave her alone! She's only a child! She couldn't possibly have done it!" she could hear Rosetta pleading, but all Ursula could see was her father.

"Shut up! I don't put anything past her...She is no child of mine. There is something in her that is not of me." Her father's eyes gleamed with hatred. "Your mother would turn in her grave if she knew what a miserable, wicked little child she suffered so much for." Ursula could feel his grip tightening around her throat.

"Father – please -" she whimpered. Rosetta was feebly pulling him away from her when he threw Ursula on the couch then swung round and struck her across the face. After seeing the damage done, it took him a moment to compose himself.

"This is the sort of behaviour from her which I expected you to eradicate. The child is dangerous." Turning back to the unmoving pile of robes on the sofa, he ordered her to go to the tower where she would remain without food until she learnt to control herself when in company. In a swish of black robes, he was gone. The storm had passed.

Neither moved for a moment in the blissful quiet. Eventually, Rose got up and pulled herself onto the couch where Ursula lay. Slowly she lifted up the folds of fabric until she found the small, delicate face she was searching for. She wasn't surprised to see her alabaster skin blushed red with tears, breathing shakily.

"If I hadn't come here at your mother's request before she died, I would've left long ago and brought you with me" she whispered softly.

"Don't be silly, he would've found us, eventually." The girl struggled to control her wavering voice.

"Well it's nice to dream sometimes. You don't always have to be so realistic."

"That's hard to do when you won't let me read my books," she pointed out with a half smile. Reluctantly, her governess took it from her pocket and placed it in her hand. Slowly, Ursula pulled herself up and shifted closer to Rosetta. Without hesitation, her friend wrapped her arms tight around the girl's shoulders and let her own tears fall.

"So when should I go to the tower, then?" Ursula asked after a while.

"You won't be going to the tower. Oh no, I have something extra-special planned for you tonight, mi bambino caro." She said, making Ursula give her a suspicious look. "Don't worry; it'll change your life for the better." Reassured and intrigued by that, the girl leaned back in her governess' arms and gave in to a long dreamless sleep.


	3. Curious Revelations

By the time she had woken from her refreshing sleep, the sun had dipped low in the sky, throwing long shadows over the room. Ursula wiped the sleep from her eyes and spotted a small, white cup lying on the floor beside her. The brown liquid inside was still steaming. Obviously some calming natural remedy left by her governess. She lifted the cup and sipped at it while watching the subtle colours lining the sky dissolve into darkness.

Pondering over the earlier events, and Rosetta's words, she struggled to come to a reasonable conclusion about what it had all meant. Was it really her that had set her father's hair on fire? Did this mean that she really could do magic? But even so, she knew her father would never let her have a wand now… And what had Rosetta planned for this evening that could be so important as to force her father to go back on his word?

Ursula set down the cup and went to the door. Edging it open so it didn't creak and alert the house-elves, she slipped out into the stone corridor. Taking her shoes off, she ran through the castle, robes billowing, to her room in the North tower. Once inside, she undressed and put on a long evening gown as her governess had instructed. Since she rarely had an occasion to wear a dress, except on her father's birthday, she picked one out with care.

Half an hour later when her hair had been groomed satisfactorily, the girl considered what to do next. Ursula decided against waiting in the study because she was too excited, but she also thought it unwise to intrude into either the lounge or the dining hall, for fear her father was there. In the end she chose to search for Rosetta who was most likely supervising the elves in the kitchen.

Ursula wandered down the many, long corridors connecting her wing to rest of the castle, mainly to pass the time since dinner wasn't to be ready for a while yet. As she went, Ursula browsed through the occasional room, observing her surroundings more closely. Of course she'd been there a long time, many years in fact, but she had never previously had the time nor the desire to look carefully at her morose surroundings. Walking past one room, she heard a vaguely familiar voice call out to her. Feeling curious, she entered. The room, like most others, was in darkness. The large, heavy curtains were closed and the chaise-longe was probably well moth-eaten. Also a life-size portrait of a young man leaned against the far wall opposite the fireplace. It was his voice that addressed her.

"Nice to _see_ you, my dear," he said slowly, with emphasis. She didn't reply but continued looking around. "It has been quite a while since I last _gazed_ upon such a benevolent countenance. Discard it, I beg you, 'tis not appreciated here."

"And you are?" The dark-haired man's lofty words and irksome suggestions forced her to address him.

"Your great-great-grandfather, Ursula." he said, raising both eyebrows with a hint of surprise. She was equally surprised.

"Really? And who might that be?" she asked, not really concerned.

"The only one of worth to gain a portrait of himself" he said with pride. Ursula looked at him more closely. His clean, black hair flowed in waves down to his broad shoulders; his eyes were familiarly grey and accentuated his handsome face structure. Upon examining him, she found herself contemplating which of his genes she'd inherited.

"Another suggestion, perhaps?" he said whilst an evil grin crept across his face. "I discovered the process of animating the inanimate." Her realization of his identity dispelled all her previous fancies.

"Victor Black." She commented coldly. "Your contributions to '_science_' have long since been discarded as the ravings of a madman. The next time I speak with my father, I'll let him know that there's one more portrait to be burnt." She turned and left, followed by a stream of abuse which echoed forever along the corridors.

"… I told him not to marry a foreigner! … youths _never_ appreciate their elders … wretched child! You are cursed! … May you never see the light again and be as blind as you were on the day of your birth!"

His yells proceeded to awaken the other portraits lining the candle-lit walls of the outer passageway. Soon her steps were muffled by the searing remarks fired at her by painted faces. Ursula successfully ignored the onslaught until she reached the portrait hole which guarded her wing of the manor. Unfortunately it too was a horrid creature. The ugly, hooked-nosed (as most paintings in the Snape Manor were) woman sat knitting apparently oblivious to Ursula's presence. She stood for a minute being polite and providing her the password to open up, but when nothing happened, the girl had to resort to cruder means. Of course it was a severe disadvantage not to have a wand around in this mansion where anything could randomly sprout legs and attack you, but it was just another one of those things she had to live with. Finally beginning to get angry, Ursula went over to the wall and pulled a candle out of its sconce, spilling a blob of scalding wax over her hand. Ignoring the pain for the moment, she walked over to the picture and thrust the flame millimetres from the old woman's face. The hag let out a scream and had the audacity to whimper 'Password please?' to Ursula. The small girl stretched further and watched the magic paint begin to sizzle under the heat of the eternal candle. Softly she whispered, "_Ball' eis__ korakas_". Instantly the portrait swung open and she dropped the candle on the stone floor as a reminder to the picture for next time.

She breathed a sigh of relief as she entered the main hall, which was flooded with the light from an antique chandelier. Fortunately, due her governess' desire to keep the place habitable, the elves frequently cleaned the delicate crystals. Descending the carpeted stairs and along more corridors leading down in the earth, she eventually reached the kitchen. Opening the door, she saw a dozen pitiful elves skulking around fetching things or slaving behind cauldrons. _Just as they should be_, Ursula thought, _better this than up to mischief_.

"Ursula! Is there something wrong?" A woman's voice called from the back of the noisy kitchen, her face obscured in a white billow of steam rising from a nearby cauldron. The girl wove her way through the busy place to Rosetta. She asked if she could help with something, perhaps even replenishing the potion stocks which were running low (she enjoyed doing this since it was the only branch of magic that didn't require a wand and had an immediate practical application), but her governess refused because there weren't enough cauldrons to spare and she was too busy to supervise.

"Why don't you … go and finish your essay or something, perhaps fix your hair, it's hanging around your face too much… and don't go into the lounge, your father's in there and doesn't wish to be disturbed 'til dinner… "

After much debating, Ursula stormed out of the kitchen and slammed the heavy door behind her. "I'm always getting in somebody's way", she muttered. "Always a nuisance, and when they do ask me to do something, its never good enough unless it's perfect." Unconsciously, she rubbed her sore hand still covered in wax. "It's like my only bloody purpose round here is to exist and be married off to some ugly, rich git." Working up a storm inside, Ursula pulled out her hair clip and shook her hair loose so that it fell, framing her face with long, wavy ringlets down to her chest.

Ignoring her governess' suggestions, she walked towards the lounge and stood outside the door for a moment. Should she enter? She was specifically told not to… she knew the consequence if she did … perhaps it was an unwise idea…. Eventually she persuaded herself to calm down and wait until Rosetta had revealed her purpose for this evening. The girl abandoned her frustration for later and bent down to the keyhole of the door, peeking through. Inside she saw her austere father, with his usual cold, impassive expression on his face, reading the Daily Prophet. Beside this lay a stack of various other papers and letters. _He could be reading about the most horrific event in human history and his expression wouldn't falter_, she observed. She watched him sip at his pre-dinner glass of firewhiskey, read some more, toss the paper in the fire then repeat the process. It was incredibly boring until once he paused mid-sip to read a passage more carefully then tear it out of the paper and place the piece into a sealed drawer. He was about to resume this tedious process when suddenly someone knocked on the doors to the main entrance. He heard it as well. Everyone heard it, for such a noise was so loud and rare that it aroused curiosity in this house of deathly silence.

Ursula heard soft footsteps almost run towards the door they moved with so much haste. After a moment, a woman's voice uttered the words of power to unlock the ancient wards. The whole manor seemed to tremble with the effort of opening the two immense, wrought-iron doors to the visitor. Her father however during this process had acquired an expression of suspicion and wariness, then settling himself reservedly into the comfy chair in which he sat, mulled over the identity of his visitor. Or if he already knew, then it was analyzing the most effective method to rid himself of such an unwanted guest. Rosetta cried out a name which meant nothing whatsoever to Ursula but, judging by the speed at which her father's head snapped up, it was someone important. Strange, important people never came to the Manor these days…. Her father's expressions had varied more in the space of 30 seconds than they had all week – from relatively serene to suspicious then surprised and alert. It now, however, rested on one of more than slight disgust. And it sounded like the visitor was headed for the lounge…

Thoroughly intrigued, Ursula crooked her head so she could get a better view of what was going on. She heard man greet Rosetta heartily, as if well acquainted with her and then ask her wellbeing. Clearly this man wasn't one of her father's clientele. Firstly, none of them knew Rosetta's name, and most weren't even aware that Mr. Volterra had a daughter. The visitor then asked, with a clear and yet soothing voice, if _she_ was alright. The stranger knew of her existence and actually sounded like he cared! This news almost caused Ursula to jump up and hit her head off the door handle, fortunately she just missed it. Straining her senses, she resumed her former position and heard her governess lead him to the main entrance to the lounge, where her father awaited, resembling a coiled viper sprung to strike if provoked.

When the man entered, he didn't look anything like Ursula had expected. From his voice she had presumed a middle-aged man, well groomed and perhaps a little chubby. What she got was a man well into his later decades with more hair on is head than he could comb. Plus his loose, purple robes suggested that he could do with a decent meal.

The introductions were short and alluded too little. Her father seemed to abandon all manners in the benevolent man's company, evening declining to offer him a seat. No matter, this man, luckily, was the type who made another's house his home without a word. He placed himself comfortably on a sofa directly opposite her father so that he became unavoidable to his gaze. The old man remained quietly observing everything in the large, dark room with an unreadable expression, steepling his fingers. Ursula craved to know his thoughts. Just then his head jerked slightly round to the door at which she knelt, looking directly at her over his half-moon glasses. Suddenly she feared terribly that he might say something to her father. Pulling back from the door, she sat breathing deeply against her beating heart to reassure herself that he hadn't seen her. _Although how could he have, I was behind the door, unless he can see through doors, which is impossible_, she mused.

After a minute of listening, she heard the sofa creak as someone rose from it. Peering through the keyhole once again, she watched the old man step over to the fire and crouch beside it. He proceeded to sprinkle a pinch of red powder over the fire, and instantly it blazed high up the chimney, producing so much heat that even she could feel the difference. Finally her father tossed his last paper aside, downed his whiskey and with an air of aggravation, acknowledged the stranger.

"What are you doing old man?" The addressed smiled as warmly as the fire, doubling the wrinkles on his face.

"The air in this place is a bit too cold for an old man like me. I like my comforts these days." His voice was gentle and reassuring, not rasping, snappish or silkily deep as other men's voices were.

"I meant why are you here?" her father corrected tersely.

"Well why didn't you say so?" He clapped his hands together, and continued, peering across his long fingers at her father. "I presumed you were aware of my arrival. I spoke of it in my letters." Mr. Volterra smiled thinly, indicating that he was lying.

"Ah yes, _those_ letters. I admit, I forgot. Forgive my previous rudeness, I do not like to be disturbed, and even less do I like to receive unexpected visitors."

"Of course, of course; but not to worry. Rosetta gave me the impression that you were aware of my coming." Her father raised an eyebrow as if to say 'Really?' but let the guest continue. "She is the most delightful woman. You are truly blessed to have her in this household. I asked her many years ago if she would come and work for me but …" As he continued, Ursula wondered at the look of complete disinterest on her father's face and how the man could ramble on oblivious.

The conversation drifted through various topics from her father's childhood (which she noticed he went to great lengths to avoid) to world issues. The old man even attempted, although very subtly, to wheedle out her father's opinions on controversial aspects, such as the disturbing events in the recent papers. Apparently children were being abducted from all over the country by the followers of an obscure cult and used for improper purposes, or so the reporters were suggesting. Her father retained a neutral and impassive viewpoint on the matter, denying it as the act of a cult but agreeing that the children had probably met an unorthodox end. Ursula was disturbed by their chosen discussion but she didn't miss the way the older man keenly observed her father as he spoke. To her, it seemed that he was searching for something. Whether it was something in her father's words, or even, dare she say it, in his mind?

Upon finishing, the visitor made a reference to her, "So how is your own child?" he gently stroked his beard. "The last time I saw her was in a photograph of when she was just born. I still remember the way she grinned up at me, with those beautiful eyes of hers …" Ursula was now leaning heavily on the door, desperate to catch every expression on his face, desperate to know more. She had never seen a photograph of herself as a baby. Her father, however, disliked where the conversation was going and kept his comments brief.

"She's fine." Sensing this, the man tried another approach.

"Oh dear me and the way I ramble on. Forgive me, I didn't mean to upset you and bring back any raw memories."

"It's fine, really." His daughter could see a mile away that it wasn't.

"You handled the whole thing very well after what happened." He went on, shaking his head with sympathy. "Luckily Rose was there to support the both of you through all those painful years –"

"Dumbledore, please!" her father interjected, at last raising his voice. Standing up, he spoke directly and sharply. "Enough of this pointless chatter. Out with why you are really here; then leave." At that moment Rosetta swung open the door and levitated in a tray of tea and biscuits. "Woman, can't you see we are here talking here!" If he was now snapping at Rose in front of this man, then he must be thoroughly agitated. Ursula began to get nervous. It was never good whenever he raised his voice; never good for her no matter what the cause.

"Sir, it most certainly is not good manners to turn a guest away hungry." Rosetta looked shocked at his behaviour but didn't let it show, acting as if she wasn't bothered by his actions. "Especially since he has taken the time to come here and make important arrangements with you, evidently." She corrected him yet kept her words humble so as not to shame him in public. They both knew the consequences if she did. Her gentle words and excellent tea calmed him enough to return to his chair. After a while of tea-drinking, leaving Ursula trying in vain to dispel the rumbling in her stomach, Dumbledore spoke.

"Since you wish me to be direct with you, I will be. Today, as I am sure you are aware, is your daughter's eleventh birthday." If this first fact hadn't blown her away, the next one would have. Her father nodded. "She is now required by law to attend a wizarding school where she shall be taught all the necessary skills to begin training for a future profession." Here, her father stopped him with a raised hand. There was a peculiar smile floating about his lips.

"Ah well, you needn't bother waste your breath on that aspect, Dumbledore. I personally arranged long ago for her seven year tuition to take place at Durmstrang; a school which has a formidable reputation, as you know, for producing top-class wizards, and witches for that matter, and filtering out the cream from the cheese, as it where." He relaxed and supped the tea in his hands. His daughter, however, couldn't help her jaw from dropping at this overload of information, falling back onto her feet. Her father had "personally arranged long ago" for her to actually attend a wizarding school – with other children of her own age! After all the things he'd said over the years about her never having a chance, and he was sending her to Durmstrang like her sister! Ursula had only dreamed of this moment. _This can't be true_, she thought. _There must be a catch. Perhaps that's why this old man Dumbledore's here, to put her through a test or tell her she doesn't qualify or something…_

Dumbledore, meanwhile, had listened to Mr. Volterra with an infuriating kind of patience, nodding slowly. When he had finished, the older man lifted up his cup containing the last dregs of the tea and gazed at them curiously. Mr. Volterra couldn't help remembering how irritating the old man had been as a Transfiguration professor, yet rejoicing that at least he hadn't been the Headmaster at that time. Finally, he lowered the cup and leant forward in his seat.

"I am truly glad that you have already secured your daughter's future at Durmstrang's fine institution. However, I am curious as to why you chose that particular school instead of, say, your own?" Her father's reply was guarded.

"I believe that is none of your concern. However, it is only logical that both my children attend the same school. Besides, the change of scenery will do her good. Their strict regime will toughen her, if you like, and turn her into something her Hogwarts contemporaries can never be." His eyes darkened considerably as he finished, as if adding the death blow to the conversation. The Headmaster, however, rose and walked over to the seated man, revealing a scroll of parchment, and offered it.

"What's this?" Mr. Volterra snapped without taking it.

"Well, I thought you had better find that out for yourself. But if you want me to give you a brief overview…" the scroll was snatched abruptly from his hands. Dumbledore remained standing as her father browse the contents, watching his face turn a nasty shade of puce towards the end. Eventually, he turned to the old man with anger.

"What is the meaning of this?" he hissed, clenching the scroll in his fist. "How did these papers come to you, I wonder?" Dumbledore faced him solemnly.

"This scroll was left to me in Sordiana's Will, containing her wishes for her children. It seems that, due to the nature of the Law, it cannot be annulled. Your daughter therefore, has –" Mr. Volterra interrupted.

"And what if I refuse, being the child's father and next of kin?" his attitude and demeanor were again deteriorating. "Or have you already seen to it that I have no say in this pathetic matter?"

"Simply, no. And before you protest again, Nicholas, do not consider appealing to the courts. You know they will not stand for it; a woman's dying wishes cannot be ignored. Except … well … unless …"

"Spit it out old man."

"Unless Ursula herself is particularly adverse to the idea." Upon the mention of her name, she almost threw herself against the door to listen. After a long silence, she heard her father grunt something incoherently, followed by another silence. Her heart was beating so loudly in her ears that she didn't hear the soft footsteps approaching the door. Next, it was swung open so quickly, the girl didn't have time to react and fell to the ground, lying sprawled out on the floor at the ancient wizard's feet. "No need to send for her; here she is." Ursula was eternally mortified as she looked up at the man's beaming, wrinkly smile. She didn't need to look at her father to know there would be a terrible expression of horror and disgust on his face. However, once she was thoroughly embarrassed, nothing could stop the flow of blood to her cheeks.

About to pull herself up, the old wizard instead bent over and offered her his hand. Taking it cautiously but with curiosity, she discovered hidden strength in those weary arms.

"Ursula, what do you think –"

"Nicholas, Nicholas, do not reprimand the child for satisfying her burning curiosity. There were days when you couldn't help yourself either, I remember." Albus winked mischievously, causing the other man to huff in a steaming silence. Ursula felt the unexpected warmth of the old man's hand and found herself not wanting to let go, he didn't seem to want to either. Leading her to the centre of the room, he turned to speak to her and placed his hands lightly on her shoulders.

"Ursula, my name is Albus Dumbledore. I am the Headmaster of Hogwarts. Do you know where that is?" Not wanting to say the wrong answer she glanced at her father. He glared back. She decided, and wisely, that that was not the place to look for inspiration, so fixed her eyes on the Headmaster's instead.

"Yes, sir." Looking into the old wizard's vivid blue eyes, she suddenly felt answers come much easier to her now than before. Confidence seeped into her, whenever her father's menacing presence wasn't lurking in the outskirts. He asked her further questions about her studies, and appeared quite impressed. Her father too, although he wouldn't show a trace of it, felt a trickle of pride as she spoke. Then he told her much about Hogwarts, its history and everything she could do. It didn't take him long, however, to get to the point.

"Ursula," he bent on his thin frame to her level. "Dear child, I think you are too highly educated to attend my school. Perhaps Durmstrang _is_ the way forward for you …" Ursula imagined she saw a hint of pain in his eyes as he said this. For what reason, she didn't know. But he quickly continued, "But enough of my chatter, it is time for you to tell us one thing, and one thing only. It is time for you to choose. And think carefully, too, for a small decision may affect your future, but these greater decisions will mould _you _into_ who you will become_. Take as long as you need child, to think, but ultimately this is your decision." Looking at the ancient wizard and listening to his words felt to her as if a veil surrounding her world had been lifted. At last she could see a flash of hope. But she must seize it, or sink further into darkness … She looked at her father. His cold eyes looked back. Taking a deep breath of confidence, she spoke with a clear voice.

"Father, will I insult you irreparably if I say yes?" Dumbledore looked hard at Nicholas. Suddenly, he heard another voice in his mind tell him to give his daughter a chance, just this once, at proving her potential, sure it cost him nothing anyway … He looked up at Ursula curiously, studying his daughter with a strange expression that was now the opposite to earlier, and answered her question evenly.

"Ursula, did you not listen to the tales of your ancestors that Rosetta told you?" Taken unawares, she nodded, unclear where this was going. "Tell me then; what did they all have in common?" She bit her lip in thought, gazing at the fire, suddenly she understood what he meant.

"Ambition, sir." He nodded.

"Correct. A burning ambition to be the best, to get what they want, and then to leave their mark. How are you going to attempt to continue that legacy around this hell-hole?" Ursula turned wide-eyed to the Headmaster who nodded patiently, then spoke her decision.

"Then I choose Hogwarts. If it is alright with you, I – I will honour my mother's wishes. It is the very least I can do." Dumbledore smiled warmly. Ursula turned back to her father, who added, typically,

"Provided you actually aren't a squib, of course. But that will be decided soon enough." Dumbledore pulled out a large, silver pocket watch, made a face, and then informed himself that it was time he left. Mr. Volterra's relief wasn't concealed.

"Minerva will be sending letters out to each of the families of next year's pupils around late August containing instructions, regulations, book lists and so on. So," he turned once again to Ursula. "'til then, have a nice summer." As he was about to leave, Ursula stopped him. A question burned in her mind.

"Headmaster, I have never – I - don't even own a wand. Will I not be behind the other children? I want to be prepared for … for …"Sensing her fears, he placed a hand on her shoulder (she was beginning to get used to that) and reassured her that there would be other children in her position, and that her wealth of background knowledge would more than compensate for most things she lacked. As he left, Rosetta shook his hand warmly and enquired of people she hadn't heard of, yet, surprisingly he wasn't easily delayed. Within minutes this most unusual visitor was gone, like a dying candle, he faded away along the path, into the darkness; leaving a troubled child gazing after him as two black, wrought-iron doors closed between them.

Neither could possibly have known at that stage, how wrong her decision was; for as the flower blooms, the less noticeable the thorns become, but they don't disappear. They never will. Their good intentions can't suppress what she is destined to become. Their Enemy.


End file.
